


Hell Yes, Actually

by notaredshirt



Series: He Has Me By My Heart [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: First Date, M/M, eventually part of a larger series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notaredshirt/pseuds/notaredshirt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Barton finally asks him out, it’s on the range.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell Yes, Actually

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamingbackwards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingbackwards/gifts).



> There’s very little actual date in this fic. I focused on the beginning and the end, and of course the asking. 
> 
> This fic also happens to fall into a (much) larger series I’m writing with dreaming-backwards where Barton/Coulson eventually form a top/sub relationship that will probably have pieces published as we get them edited. This one is the very first point in that universe, but the rest probably won’t be published in order.

The sound of gunfire faded and Coulson checked his weapon, flicking the safety on before setting it down on the ledge in front of him. His safety glasses joined them and he flicked the switch to bring his target to him. Barton hummed behind him, making Coulson smirk. While he didn't have the same accuracy as his asset, his bullets had at least all hit within one-quarter inches of each other. “What do you think, Barton? Do I pass?”

“You should have gone for the smiley face,” Barton teased, uncrossing his arms as Coulson handed him the paper target. “You’re too fond of the flower pattern. You’re getting predictable.” He grinned, and something like excitement flickered in his eyes. “You busy tonight?” 

Coulson's expression didn't change, but he did relax, leaning slightly against the wall Barton had claimed while Coulson finished his clip. He knew his heart rate had picked up, but he’d been waiting for this and he knew Barton had too. Since the moment they’d come face to face -regardless of the hole in Barton’s leg, courtesy of Coulson's 9mm- they’d been aware of each other in a way Coulson, at least, had never felt before. In the months since then, Barton had become a stellar asset, even if Coulson and Fury were the only ones to think so, and their lives fairly orbited the other’s. When they weren't on an op they sat together in Coulson's office, working on paperwork or the next high score, respectively; when they weren't on the range, taunting each other through their shots or silently keeping each other company, they were hunched over takeout boxes, talking about whatever came to mind. For all his training, though, Barton’s slow grin confirmed this was one time Coulson knew he wasn't keeping his mask on quite tight enough. “I’m not. Do you have plans, Hawkeye?”

“Yeah,” Barton said, shifting slightly. Coulson glanced down, watching the muscles of his arms, and when his eyes lifted again, Barton was leaning into Coulson's space. “I was thinking we could get dinner.”

Most of their meals were spent together, but the phrasing, the body language, it was all different, and Coulson gave up on keeping his face straight. He smiled at Barton and shook his head. True, they’d both seen this coming for months, but there were still protocols, and even if he was the only one following them, Coulson wouldn't let anyone jeopardize their potential relationship by claiming he had acted inappropriately. “Ask me again after 1900 hours, Agent,” he replied, slipping his gun into its holster. 

Barton looked a little shocked at his evasion, and Coulson took a step forward and pressed the target against Barton’s chest, feeling the heat of his skin even with a t-shirt and the paper target between them. “After 1900,” he repeated firmly. His gaze darted down to Barton’s mouth then up to his eyes, dark and intense, the hot puff of Barton’s breath against his mouth eroding too much of his control; he needed to put some distance between them. Spinning on his heel and gathering the files he’d been carrying when Barton had challenged him, he called over his shoulder, “Don’t be late.” Pushing back his smirk as he exited the range, he gave a little wave just before the door swung shut behind him.

\---

Barton knocked on Coulson's door promptly at 1901 and, true to form, barged in without asking and stared at Coulson as he shut down his computer. He’d tried to speak several times, but Coulson shook his head and herded Barton out of the office. 

“No files to sign out tonight, Boss?” Barton wasn't tense, but he did seem just enough on edge that Coulson felt justified in brushing their fingers together as they settled into the elevator for the ride down to the motor pool. 

“I don’t think I’ll have the time,” he said lightly. That got a chuckle from Barton, and they shared an eager glance before stepping out of the elevator. Seniority came with a few perks, and his choice of parking spots was one of them, even if his plain black sedan didn't exactly warrant the special treatment.

It wasn't until they’d pulled out of the garage and onto the busy New York streets that he finally let Barton speak. “Did you have something to ask me, Clint?”

Smirking, Clint leaned over the gearshift at a red light, setting Phil’s heart racing. “Do you want to go to dinner with me, Phil?”

“Yes, of course,” Phil responded. Clint’s mouth- his eyes, his everything- were too distracting and Phil dragged his eyes back to the road with regret. He wanted to thank Clint for asking him out, for noticing him, for being so distractingly gorgeous, but he also wanted to live to the end of the night and its -sweaty, sticky- conclusion. 

“Fuck you,” Clint said, laughing as he leaned back into his own seat. “You’re such a goddamn tease.” 

Phil didn't deny it, but he did ask for directions. With a little more flirty teasing, Phil pulled up in front of their favorite diner, a small, grease-soaked affair squished between a used bookstore and a pizza parlor. “So romantic,” he sighed as he followed Clint to their usual booth. 

“If I thought you’d want fancy I would've done it,” Clint said, sliding onto the tacky vinyl with a grin, “but you’re a hometown boy deep down. You can’t hide from me anymore. They don’t call me Hawkeye for no reason.”

“You call you Hawkeye,” Phil corrected, but he didn't deny anything or push Clint’s boots away when his feet wormed between Phil’s crossed ankles, only smiled to soften his words.

Ultimately, this dinner wasn't much different than any other, with the exception of the anticipatory grins exchanged when one of them stared for too long. Clint stole half of his potatoes, Phil stole half of his fries, and they smiled and teased and flirted and touched until they were full. Clint insisted on paying and Phil didn't argue. It hadn't taken him long to see the way Clint wanted to help, to take care of people; particularly the people -person, since Phil knew he was the only one on the list- he loved and trusted, and if paying for their date made Clint happy, Phil wouldn't stop him. 

They walked back to the car side by side, arms loose and shoulders brushing. “Next time you ask me out you should do it after hours.” Phil’s hands slid into his pockets and he glanced over at Clint, unable -and unwilling- to suppress his grin. 

“If it’ll get me an immediate answer, you can count on it.” Clint stopped and caught Phil’s arm, pulling him around to face him. He pulled Phil’s hand out of his pocket and laced their fingers together, ignoring Phil’s gaze to watch the way their hands moved. When he finally lifted his eyes, the smirk on his mouth made him look like just the right kind of danger and Phil’s heart jumped. Taking a step closer, Clint squeezed Phil’s hand and leaned in. “Phil, are you free tomorrow night?”

There was no way he’d turn Clint down and they both knew it so when Phil wrapped his hand around the back of Clint’s neck and drew him into a kiss they were both grinning. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Clint said when the kiss broke, his grin back in full force. 

“It’s a hell yes, actually,” Phil corrected, licking his lips and leaning in again. “And an invitation for a nightcap if you’re interested.”

Clint wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist and hauled him in for another kiss, then another, and another, until Phil knew he’d never be able to forget how Clint felt and tasted. Then Clint was gone, taking the heat of his body with him, dragging Phil toward the car with a hand on his back and a grin on his lips.


End file.
